


Coin of Death

by Wolfling



Series: The Sword of Damocles [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post season 3a, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, Stilinski Family Feels, but slowly getting there, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And the last thing in the dream, the thing that had made him wake up screaming, was hearing the voices calling his Dad's name. All the fear and vague <em>menace</em> that Stiles had been feeling since that morning suddenly coalesced into a single horrified certainty.</p>
<p>"Derek," he said, in a tightly controlled voice, as he fought back the resurgence of panic, "where's my Dad?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coin of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Here starts actual plot stuff of the series. (Which may explain why this ended up about twice as long as I thought it would.)
> 
> There's enough of a slow burn starting to happen between Derek and Stiles that I felt I could start using the Derek/Stiles, but it is still pretty much just subtext. 
> 
> There is mention of a suicide, as well as a scene with someone talking down someone else who is suicidal.

For the second morning in a row, Stiles woke up well rested and being watched by a werewolf. 

"I know I keep saying it," he said as he indulged in a languid full body stretch, "but I really think I should find this a lot creepier than I do. In fact I think I'm getting creeped out by how not creepy I'm finding you watching me sleep is."

Still sitting in the chair by Stiles' desk as he had been when Stiles had gone to sleep, Derek rolled his eyes. "Good morning, Stiles," he said.

"Morning!" Stiles replied cheerily. He really did feel extraordinarily good; it was amazing what getting enough nightmare free sleep could do for one's emotional outlook. 

Derek was staring at him. When Stiles raised an eyebrow questioningly, he sort of gestured in Stiles' direction and said, "You've got bed head."

Stiles resisted the urge to clap his hands to his head and try to smooth down his hair. "No, really?" he gasped dramatically. "My life is ruined!" It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Of course I have bed head! I've been in bed asleep for hours. Everybody has bed head after that. It's why it's called bed head."

He was expecting a scowl from Derek at that, but instead he got that smirk he was quickly getting familiar with that made him want to grin back. The new improved, less grumpy, slightly more communicative Derek was taking some getting used to, but Stiles couldn't say he minded.

He got out of bed and started rifling through his drawers to get clothes to wear to school. "Hang out for a bit, okay?" he said as he headed for the bathroom. "Give me a few minutes to get dressed and de-bed head myself and I'll make breakfast."

Derek was already standing up and shaking his head. "You don't have to-"

"Dude, it's the least I can do," Stiles insisted, overriding his protest. "Consider it payment for all the non-creepy watching me sleep thing." When Derek still seemed to be thinking about just climbing out the window, Stiles pointed at the chair. "Sit," he ordered. 

_That_ got him one of the infamous Derek Hale scowls, but it also got Derek reluctantly sitting back down so Stiles considered it a win. "I won't be long," he promised, then headed down the hall to the bathroom.

He slowed when he passed his Dad's room and saw it still empty. 

Stiles knew his Dad's schedule, knew he should've been home a couple of hours before, and that usually by now he would've been sacked out. That he wasn't made Stiles' muscles tense up and his heart start beating faster.

It was probably nothing, he told himself, forcing himself back into motion, heading into the bathroom. Just because his Dad was usually in bed by now after a night shift didn't mean he always was. There were plenty of times that his Dad stayed up to have breakfast with Stiles and make sure he got off to school. He could just be down in the kitchen, reading the paper or going through some work files with a cup of coffee while he waited for Stiles to get up.

Or he could be not home yet, but not because of any nefarious reasons. Or at least anything more nefarious than his Dad sneaking a breakfast full of grease away from Stiles' disapproving gaze. It wouldn't be the first time.

When he finished getting dressed, Stiles stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The shadows that he had got used to seeing under his eyes were a bit more faded today thanks to two nights of sleep in a row, but that didn't stop him from looking haunted at the moment, the ever present feeling of menace hovering closer suddenly than it had been.

"Stop it, Stiles," he told himself firmly. He deliberately took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out. "He's _fine_. You don't know that he isn't so stop borrowing trouble."

The self administered pep talk didn't really help. Stiles gave it up as a bad cause and headed back to his room.

Derek was on his feet before Stiles had even managed to get more than one step inside. "What's happened?" he asked with all the urgency Stiles could've wanted in a crisis. Which this wasn't, he firmly reminded himself. Still, it was nice to have someone take even the idea of non-existent crises seriously.

"Derek," he asked calmly, though his voice sounded a lot younger than Stiles was comfortable with, "my Dad wouldn't happen to be downstairs, would he?"

He watched Derek tilt his head slightly to the side, his eyes going slightly distant as he obviously double checked before answering, something Stiles appreciated even in the midst of his growing fear. But the answer when it did come was not what he wanted to hear.

"No," Derek said, his eyes focusing on Stiles again. "We're the only ones in the house."

"Shit." That extinguished one spark of hope, but that didn't mean- He practically threw himself across the room and grabbed his phone, almost fumbling it in his haste.

Derek was frowning at him in concern. "Stiles-"

"My Dad should've been home by now," he said as he pressed his Dad's number. "It's probably nothing but-"

"It doesn't hurt to make sure," Derek finished with a decisive nod and Stiles could've almost kissed him for taking his worry seriously.

He listened to his phone ring once, twice, then the click as it was picked up before the third ring. "I'm okay, kid," Dad's familiar voice sounded in his ear.

"Oh thank god," Stiles said, breathing out in relief, the tension leaving his body in a whoosh. 

"Sorry," Dad said and Stiles could picture the grimace that probably accompanied the apology. Dad knew how jumpy he'd been lately and had been really great at making sure Stiles knew where he was pretty much all the time without asking. Stiles had been beyond grateful for that because it had made coping with everything just that little bit easier. 

"It's okay," he replied because it should've been and it would've been if not for Stiles' current hang ups, and his Dad shouldn't have to apologize for not catering to them. "Just... you weren't home yet and I just..." _Was freaking_ he finished in his head.

"I should've called, kid," Dad said firmly. "I'm sorry. I got caught up with something here at work and lost track of the time."

Stiles didn't say it's okay again because as much as it should be the fact that he freaked kinda proved the point that it wasn't. "Apology accepted," he said instead, trying to let go of the last of the worried tension Dad not being where he supposed to be had engendered. A second later the implications of his Dad _the sheriff_ getting caught up with something at work sank in and all the tension came rushing back.

"Is it something bad?" he asked, fingers tightening on the phone as he braced himself for the answer. "That you got caught up with -- is it something bad?"

He heard Dad let out his breath in a weary sigh. "I won't lie to you, son, it's bad enough. But," he continued, "I'm not sure yet if it's... uh..."

"Freaky supernatural bad?" Stiles supplied for him, which earned him a snort of amusement from Derek who was standing close by and just listening. 

"Yeah, that," Dad confirmed. "It could be just an average run of the mill suicide."

"But you don't think so."

"But I don't think so. It's nothing I can put my finger on just yet, but it's giving me a bad feeling. Of course, I could just be paranoid..."

Stiles would love for it to just be his Dad being paranoid, but when did they get that lucky? Still, it didn't hurt to try and be optimistic. "Hey, you are living with probably the most paranoid person in town. Maybe I've rubbed off on you."

"Still, it doesn't hurt to double check," Dad said. "Cross all the options off the list."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Don't want to miss anything."

"Listen, kid, don't go borrowing trouble till we know for sure, okay? You go to school and let me do my job. We'll talk tonight, I promise." Dad paused. "All of us."

Stiles stilled. "You want me to have Scott call a Pack Meeting?"

Dad sighed heavily. "Yeah. Better. Invite everyone over tonight and order some pizza. At the very least you get some bonding time with your friends and I get some bonding time with double cheese and pepperoni."

"You wish. I'm ordering you a veggie lover's," Stiles told him firmly. 

"Then I'll just have to steal some of yours," Dad shot back without missing a beat. He paused then continued in a softer, more reassuring voice. "It's going to be okay, Stiles. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it. All of us. Okay?"

Stiles swallowed hard, forcing the worry back down as much as he could. His Dad was right. Whatever was happening, one way or the other, they'd deal with it. "Okay," he replied softly.

He heard muffled voices in the background on Dad's end of the phone call. "I gotta go. Duty calls. You gonna be all right, kid?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, nodding emphatically even though his Dad couldn't see him. "I'll be fine." His eyes were on Derek as he spoke and somehow that made it easier to get the words out convincingly. "Go. Do Sheriff things. I'll talk to you tonight."

He disconnected the call and he and Derek just stared at each other for a long moment.

Surprisingly it was Derek who spoke first. "He's all right," he said, obviously trying to be reassuring.

And it was a reassuring thought, it really was. Stiles didn't want to think about what kind of state he'd be in if Dad hadn't answered his phone. "Yeah," he said, nodding along. "And I'm all kinds of happy about that."

"But...?" Derek said leadingly.

"But now I get to spend the day worrying about what new monstrosity is attacking Beacon Hills this time." He blew out his breath in a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "So yay, less personal freaking out, but boo, more general what crap do we have to deal with now."

"You know it could just be what it looks like," Derek suggested mildly. "An actual, mundane suicide."

And of course Derek had been listening to both sides of the conversation. Stiles should be used to all the werewolf eavesdropping by now. "Maybe," he allowed, "but when do we ever get that lucky? Besides my Dad wouldn't have asked for a Pack Meeting if he didn't think there was something supernaturally hinky about it."

Derek inclined his head in a gesture that Stiles interpreted as _yeah, you've got a point._ Which of course he did, Stiles _always_ had a point. "Still," Derek said, "there's not much we can do about it now, even if it is... supernaturally hinky."

"Not without more info, no," Stiles admitted reluctantly. "Too bad Dad didn't say where this happened, we could casually swing on by and see if those wolf senses picked up any hinkiness." He wondered if he should call his Dad back and ask him.

"Or," Derek countered in a overly reasonable tone of voice, "you can do what your Dad asked you to do and go to school, talk to Scott, and then tonight your Dad will tell us all what he knows and we can deal with it then. Together. As a Pack."

Stiles grinned at him. "You mean you don't want me to play hooky and the two of us try to stop something we literally have no information about without telling anyone? Man, you're not fun anymore."

Derek rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Stiles-"

"No, you're right," Stiles said, holding his hands up defensively. "If for no other reason that Scott gets _really_ cranky any more when I try to figure out dangerous things without keeping him in the loop. Gotta be an Alpha thing. He wants to know even when what I tell him doesn't make any sense to anyone but me. And sometimes not even me. " And okay, point made. He'd be good and do what he was supposed to. 

He made for the door to his bedroom, feeling Derek fall into step behind him. "So I promised you breakfast," he said as they headed down the stairs.

"You don't have to," Derek protested softly.

Stiles turned his head to look over his shoulder at him. "I want to," he said honestly. Derek still looked like he was going to protest so he continued, "Besides, I have to make breakfast for me; it's not a big deal to just double the portions. Just suck it up and accept you're having breakfast with me, capiche?"

"Fine," Derek grumbled with a glare that would've been a lot more convincing if Stiles hadn't seen the small smirk that had proceeded it.

If he was being honest with himself as he set about cooking up some eggs and throwing some bread in the toaster, he really wasn't all that hungry. But Derek had taken on the completely boring task of sitting and watching him sleep for two nights in a row now and Stiles wanted to do something for him in return. He thought feeding him was a good start at least.

Besides, making breakfast gave him something to focus on other than the possible Badness that was out there. The Badness that he didn't even know enough about to start figuring out how to stop it. He'd be fine once he was at school -- well okay fine was probably an exaggeration, but classes would at least keep him distracted enough that he didn't vibrate right out of his skin. It was just this space of time before he could reasonably leave for school that he had to stay busy to keep himself from diving headlong into research that he didn't have enough facts to actually be useful at yet.

Derek at first had stood at the counter and watched Stiles work with something that looked remarkably like a bemused smile on his face until he'd spotted the coffee maker and had gone over and started it brewing without being asked. And while coffee wasn't quite the necessity to get him to functional levels of consciousness this morning as it usually was, Stiles wasn't going to turn down a cup. Plus even if he had been inclined to, he knew Derek probably had greater need of it considering he'd stayed up all night watching Stiles sleep.

Which brought up a pertinent point. "Soooo," he began as he dished up two plates of breakfast and brought them over to the table. "Are you planning on being my guard wolf for sleeping for the foreseeable future?"

Derek handed Stiles a mug of coffee before sitting down with his own in front of the plate of food Stiles had made him. "Is it helping?"

"Stupid question," Stiles replied, adding three teaspoons of sugar to his coffee before taking a sip. "You know it is."

"Then yes, I am," Derek said, then started eating like that was the end of the discussion. 

Stiles nodded. "Great. Except for I'm not sure what good it does everyone if we trade in my sleep deprivation for yours."

Derek's movements slowed down a little at that. "It doesn't affect me as much," he said casually, which Stiles may have bought if it wasn't for the fact he was staring at his eggs. "Werewolves don't need as much sleep as humans."

"But they still need _some_ sleep," Stiles pointed out.

Derek frowned. "I can handle it," he told his eggs.

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, Scott tried that line back when Peter was still crazy Alpha and he thought he had to stand watch over Allison."

That actually got Derek to stop talking to his breakfast and look up. "What happened?" he asked and Stiles congratulated himself on properly implying there was a story there.

"He dozed off and fell off her roof," he said in his most deadpan delivery and was rewarded with a muffled snort of laughter from Derek. Stiles grinned. "The true Alpha, ladies and gentlemen."

He got a flash of a real smile from Derek, which faded a little as he said, "I'm not Scott. And I'm not sitting on your roof."

"Which may I say I'm ever so grateful for," Stiles said, gesturing at him with his fork. "The last thing I need is werewolves congregating on the eaves like some kind of furry gargoyles. I'm nowhere near goth enough for that and while Dad's rolled with everything surprisingly well, that might be a bit much for him." He let himself get more serious again. "I appreciate what you're doing for me, I really do. Actually being able to sleep is such a freaking godsend you don't even know. But I don't want you hurting yourself just to help me."

"I'm not hurting myself," Derek insisted. "It's not like I can't get some sleep at other times."

"I'm not sure taking a nap when I'm at school or something is enough to make up for entire nights watching out for me," he ventured.

"More than you'd think." Derek put his fork down and met Stiles' gaze. "I've got by on a lot less than that when I've had to."

"But you shouldn't _have_ to," Stiles insisted. "That's the point I'm trying to get across here."

Derek frowned again. "I'm not-" 

Stiles held up a hand to stop him. "I'm not saying stop with the Stiles guarding. I'm not that much of a masochist that I'm going to turn down the first real solution I've had to Nemeton induced insomnia. Just... we need to modify it. Tweak it until it's not a case of you or me. That's all I'm saying."

The frown Derek was wearing had now gone from disagreement to deep thinking, a step in the right direction as far as Stiles was concerned. "You sound like you have something in mind," Derek ventured cautiously.

"I always have something in mind," Stiles said immodestly. "Several somethings in this case. But basically it's going to involve a case of trial and error experimentation because fuck if I know how my brain on the Nemeton works and why you watching me sleep seems to be counteracting it. I mean, yeah, at the root of it -- hah, did you see what I did there? Root, Nemeton... never mind -- it's because you watching me sleep makes me feel safe. But is it just your presence -- is having a werewolf I trust that's capable of kicking all kinds of supernatural ass nearby enough? Or do I need to have the creepy though reassuring watching me thing too? Because if it's the former, there can be less creepy though reassuring watching and more both of us sacking out and getting much needed and well deserved zzzz's. Like a slumber party. Though with less braiding each other's hair and talking about boys. And I'm just going to shut up now before I somehow find myself offering to paint your claws or something."

There was a long pause before Derek said anything, which Stiles just put down to the Stiles Stilinski babble effect, patent pending. When he really got going he could still stun even his Dad or Scott into momentary silence. 

"So..." Derek finally began slowly, "instead of me standing watch while you sleep, you want me to go to sleep myself?"

"Yeah," Stiles confirmed. "I've got an air mattress for when Scott stays over that you can use so it's not like you have to try and sleep on the floor or in my desk chair or anything. And it's just an experiment -- like having you sleep guard me in the first place was. The bonus this time though is if it doesn't work, you'll be right there to go back to the creepy though reassuring watching me sleep for the rest of the night and we can try something else the next time."

"Like what?"

"Let's just try this idea first and see if it works at all."

Derek was still frowning, but it had a hint of capitulation in it this time so Stiles knew he'd won him over even before he shrugged and said, "Tonight?"

"Maybe, though if it turns out that the suicide my Dad's dealing with is actually creepy ass weird shit, it won't matter because I'll be too busy researching to even try to sleep." He held up a hand to forestall any protests. "We'll all be too busy dealing with it to sleep and you know it."

Derek gave a half shrug, non-verbally conceding the point.

That settled, Stiles nodded and turned his attention back to his breakfast.

When they both finished, Stiles put their dishes in the sink and started walking backwards towards the stairs. "I just need to grab my stuff, I'll be right back," he told Derek, turning around to run up the stairs and to his room. 

He grabbed his bag and shoved his finished homework into it, slinging it over his shoulder and turning to go. 

Except his eyes fell onto his Wall of Research and he couldn't help hesitating. It wouldn't hurt if he just gave a quick look and see if he could at least narrow down what they might be facing, even with what little he did know. 

Would it?

He let the bag slide back off his shoulder as he stepped closer, mind whirring.

_Suicide_. Well that let out a typical werewolf attack at least. Stiles wasn't sure if that was good or bad. While werewolf attacks were really, really horrible, bloody things, at least they all had a pretty good idea of what to do about them. At least as a starting point.

Which left druidic fuckery aka magic and 'other'. While the fact that they'd run into some kind of suicidal compulsion before that was druidic fuckery made that slightly more likely, Stiles really wished he knew more than 'suicide that my Dad thinks is suspiciously unnatural' so he could make a guess one way or the other on where to focus his researching. 

"Stiles!"

Which, okay, he was supposed to be leaving until later because he needed to go to school now. He could do that. Totally. 

"Coming!" he called back to Derek, picking his bag back up and stepping away from his Wall of Research. If he had to grit his teeth as he forced himself to do so, well, no one else had to know that.

It was easier once he was out of the room and heading down the stairs. And even easier when he had Derek in front of him to focus on. He was waiting for Stiles by the front door, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a frown that was more than halfway to the old Derek Hale glare.

"Now there's the old Sourwolf we all know and love," Stiles teased with a smirk, coming to a stop right in front of him.

Derek gave a small, barely audible, put upon sigh at the old nickname. "You're going to be late."

Stiles let his smirk get bigger. "Not with the way I drive!" He paused with his hand on the door knob and looked back at Derek. "Did you drive last night? Run? By which I mean, uh, do you need a ride anywhere?"

"I'm good," Derek said, frown having softened into something a bit warmer.

Stiles nodded and paused to lock the door behind them when they had both stepped outside. "Don't forget -- Pack Meeting back here this afternoon," he said, then felt stupid because yeah, there's no way Derek was going to forget that. "You can come in through my bedroom window if you want, but I think the rest of us will probably use the door," he added in an effort to recover.

Derek just rolled his eyes good naturedly. "Go to school, Stiles."

"Right." He headed for his jeep. "See you later."

*******

For once something was going his way because one of the first things Stiles saw when he got out of his jeep and started across the parking lot was Scott pulling up on his motor bike.

Switching direction mid-step, Stiles reached Scott just as he was pulling off his helmet. "Scott! Old buddy, old alpha, old pal!" he greeted him, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "Boy, do we need to talk!"

Scott's expression went from welcoming to concerned in the time it took him to get a sniff of Stiles. "What's wrong?"

They had the time before their first class and Stiles didn't really want to talk about this stuff out in the open so he just tugged Scott in the direction of his jeep. Scott, being awesome, let him and waited until they were both sitting inside it with the doors closed before demanding, "Okay, what?"

"Dad's asked for a Pack Meeting after school," Stiles told him.

If anything Scott got even more serious and Alpha-like in reaction to that. "What's happened?"

Stiles could feel that new aura of confidence and, well, protectiveness, that seemed to radiate off Scott now. It helped calm his jangly nerves even if it didn't entirely get rid of the feeling of impending doom he'd been doing his best to ignore. "Don't have many -- or any, really -- details, other than there was a suicide that Dad thinks is hinky. Supernaturally hinky. Wouldn't tell me more than that over the phone." He wasn't pouting about that. Not at all.

"Probably as payback for all that time you spent not telling him about werewolves," Scott said, deadpan and Stiles was suddenly inspired to do his own attempt at a Derek Hale glare. It was successful enough that Scott held up his hands defensively. "Kidding! I'm kidding." Then more seriously, he added, "You know he would've told you everything if he thought the danger was immediate."

Stiles let out a long suffering sigh. "Yeah, I know. It's just that I need..." He made grabby hands at his steering wheel in frustration as he ran out of words.

"You need to know everything that's going on so you can figure out how to stop it before anybody you care about gets hurt," Scott said fondly because he knew what Stiles meant even when Stiles didn't. He threw an arm around Stiles' shoulders in an awkward half hug despite the gear shift between them. "And you will. That's what the Pack Meeting's for, isn't it? To give us all the information?"

"Yeah," he admitted, feeling better at the unquestioning confidence in him that Scott had just voiced.

"So... try not to freak out too much before it's necessary," Scott advised.

Stiles looked at him. "Scott, you know I like to get my freakouts in early so I can get them done and over with before the crap hits the fan," he said, only half kidding.

"Is that what this is?" Scott asked, giving him earnest eyes. Nobody could do earnest eyes like Scott.

"Yes. No." He blew out his breath and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't know. It's just... we've been waiting for the other shoe to drop for so long and now it seems like it has, but we don't know what kind of shoe or who dropped it or what we have to do to pick it up." He grimaced. "And that metaphor may have got away from me."

Scott gave him a warm grin. "Maybe just a little. But I get it, I do. And I promise you, Stiles, if a shoe's been dropped we're gonna retrieve and dispose of it. Okay?"

"Okay," Stiles replied, Scott's dorky use of Stiles' overextended metaphor reminding Stiles why they were best friends, at the same time the utter conviction and intent of the promise reminding him why Scott was his Alpha.

Scott squeezed Stiles' shoulder and then opened the passenger door. "Come on," he said before climbing out. "We don't want to be late for first class. We can tell the others about the Pack Meeting at lunch."

"Right." Stiles climbed out of his jeep and locked it back up before falling into step beside Scott as they headed for the school. Halfway there something occurred to him. "But just Pack, okay? No Pack adjacent former Alpha werwolf twins."

"You sure?" Scott asked, glancing over at him. "If there is something going on we might need them."

"I'm sure. Two reasons." Stiles held up one finger. "First, I still don't trust either of them as far as I could throw them and, if I have any choice at all in the matter, I don't want them in my house or around my Dad." He held up a second finger. "Two, and way more importantly, this will be Derek's first Pack Meeting. To say it would be rude to invite the two douches who used him as a murder weapon on Boyd is such an understatement I can't even begin to describe it."

"Oh," Scott said, looking slightly horrified. "You're right. I didn't even think.... That would have been really bad."

"Really really bad," Stiles agreed. 

"Really really _really_ bad," Scott reiterated. "That would've made me a terrible Alpha. I'm a terrible Alpha for not thinking of that."

"You're not a terrible Alpha, Scott, jeez," Stiles reassured him. "You just like to think the best of people so when you think of Aiden and Ethan you think of their less douchey moments." He nudged Scott's shoulder with his own. "Besides, that's why you have me -- to point out when you're missing something important."

"You mean when I'm acting like an insensitive idiot."

Stiles spread his hands. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but since you brought it up...." He grinned and ducked the playful shove Scott threw his way.

The horseplay made Stiles instantly feel better, a hint of what had always been normal in amongst the craziness that masqueraded as normal in their lives now.

Scott pulled out his phone as they headed into the school. "I should text Derek, let him know what's been happening."

"He already does," Stiles blurted without really thinking about it. At Scott's curious look, Stiles fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest defensively. "He was there when I called my Dad and found out about all of this, okay?"

Scott looked puzzled for a brief moment, then his expression cleared up into a happy smile. "So does that mean that Derek's still trying to help you sleep?"

"Yes it does, and yes he did and yes I'm going to continue to let him help me and no, you're not getting any more details than that." Stiles knew that his tone was almost irritated but he couldn't help it. He hated admitting weakness to anyone, even to Scott. 

"That's great, Stiles!" Scott enthused, looking, god bless him, nothing but genuinely pleased. "Derek said he'd wanted to help, but I wasn't sure if you'd...."

"Let him lurk in my room all night being creepy and yet somehow still reassuring?" Stiles finished for him, successfully sounding more wry than irritated now. It was hard to stay irritated with Scott at the best of times anyway. 

"Basically, yeah," Scott said, matching wry for wry. 

"Well I did, he lurked, I slept, it was a success all around." He paused and then added, "He even came over early so we could watch a movie together."

That got Stiles a shocked stare from Scott. " _Derek_ came over to watch movies? Really?"

"I know, right? Definitely a new and improved and slightly less socially awkward Derek Hale." Stiles smiled, remembering how relaxed and _easy_ the night before had been. "Gotta say, I like it."

Scott gave him a weird look.

"Okay, what?" Stiles asked.

"Nothing," Scott said, shaking his head as if he was shaking off whatever it was he'd been thinking. "Come on. We don't want to be late for class."

The day passed faster than Stiles feared it was going to, schoolwork being enough to keep him from obsessing too much over the upcoming Pack Meeting. They told the others about it during lunch. Scott didn't try to hide it from Ethan and Aiden, just told them point blank it was Pack only and they weren't invited. They looked like they wanted to ask questions, but Scott just shut them down with a look and maybe just a hint of Alpha red eyes.

Stiles couldn't pretend that he didn't take satisfaction in that. He was, grudgingly, willing to admit that some day the twins might end up being something more than uncomfortable allies, but they had a hell of a lot to make up for before that could happen. The past wasn't that easily forgiven and it was never going to be forgotten, not if Stiles had anything to say about it.

He owed Boyd and Erica at least that much.

The school day finally ended and everyone made their way over to the Stilinski residence. Stiles got there first by what he was convinced was sheer will power and he relaxed just a little to see his Dad's car in the driveway.

He thought that was enough reassurance and that he was perfectly fine as he parked the jeep and headed inside -- until he saw his Dad sitting at the dining room table going through a folder's worth of papers. The relief he felt at actually seeing him was enough to leave him a little weak kneed and to emphasize just how much fear and worry for his safety Stiles had been pushing down all day.

There was, Stiles knew, only one thing he could do in the face of these emotions. He dropped his bag and crossed the room, pulling his Dad to his feet so he could hug him tightly.

Dad's arms immediately wrapped around him in return and for a moment Stiles just let himself hang on and wallow in what always felt like the safest place ever.

He felt Dad's sigh ruffle his hair. "I promise I won't forget to call again," he said, still not letting go.

"S'okay," Stiles replied, more because he wanted it to be than it actually was. He took a deep breath and pulled back, stepping out of the hug. "How bad is it?"

Dad made a face. "I've seen worse things, but... bad enough."

"So it's not just a regular suicide?" It had been a faint hope, but still Stiles was disappointed to have it dashed.

"Almost certainly not."

Stiles blew his breath out in a sigh. "Wonderful. Well, the Pack's on its way over so we can all brainstorm the problem when they get here."

As if it had been waiting for its cue, there came a knock on the door. "And speaking of..." Stiles said as he went to answer it.

It was Derek, who actually looked far more ill at ease using the door than he ever had crawling in through Stiles' window. Stiles bit his tongue on any jibes about social awkwardness because at least Derek was trying. "Hey," he said instead. "Did you get some sleep?"

The question seemed to put Derek at ease because he rolled his eyes and said patiently, "Yes, Stiles, I got some sleep. You can quit worrying about that now."

"Nope," Stiles responded, grinning at him. "But I'll bump it down a few notches on my list of Things To Worry About, how's that?"

"It'll do." Derek looked over Stiles' shoulder. "Can I come in?" 

And that was when Stiles realized he was standing in the doorway, blocking the way inside. "Of course!" he babbled, hastening to step aside and let Derek enter. "God, sorry. Guess I'm just so used to you barging in windows that I've forgotten proper door etiquette with you."

"It's not like you've ever had it with anyone else, kid," Stiles' Dad said, coming up behind him and laying a hand on Stiles' shoulder. He nodded his head at Derek. "Derek."

Derek returned the nod with a serious expression. "Sheriff."

Stiles glanced between the two of them, suddenly remembering that the last time they were face to face there were charges of murder involved and that could create some tension even if everyone was on the same side and the same werewolfy page now. But before he could employ his usual go to strategy for dealing with tension -- namely opening his mouth and babbling, his Dad held out his hand and said, "Welcome back."

Derek was surprised at that -- Stiles could tell because of he had surprised eyebrows -- but he recovered quickly and shook Dad's hand. "Thank you, sir."

"I take it you being here means you're part of this whole pack thing?" Dad asked.

"Yes," Derek said and Stiles was sure he wasn't imagining how Derek stood just that teeniest bit taller as he answered. Browbeating Derek into joining was obviously an excellent move on Stiles' part.

And then his Dad went and made it even better by nodding and pronouncing, "Good. They could use someone with your knowledge set."

"Yeah," Stiles enthused. "It leaves something to be desired when our best experts on how to wolf are a hunter, a veterinarian who thinks being cryptic is a valid lifestyle choice, and me and my google-fu. It's great to have an actual expert we can trust back."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Saying I'm an expert at 'how to wolf' is like saying you're an expert at 'how to human', Stiles."

"I _am_ an expert at how to human," Stiles said, gesturing at him, "that's my whole point! You were born a werewolf so if you aren't an expert on how to wolf, we're in deep trouble."

Derek rolled his eyes. "You're ridiculous," he said, which fine, Stiles totally was. He could own his ridiculousness; after all he'd learned to use it to his advantage. Like distracting Derek enough that he forgot to be tense around Stiles' Dad.

Dad gave him a look -- if anyone was used to him using words as a distraction enough to catch on when he was doing it, it was his Dad. But he just smiled a little and shook his head fondly. 

Derek's head turned toward the door. "Scott just turned onto the street."

"You can sense him?" Stiles asked, eyes wide. "Like because he's the Alpha? Do you have like an Alpha early warning system?"

That earned him a look like Derek wondered if he was crazy. Stiles was very familiar with that type of look, he got it from all kinds of people all the time. "I can hear his bike." He opened the door and went outside to meet Scott.

"Really, kid?" Dad said, coming up behind Stiles and resting a hand on his shoulder. "An Alpha early warning system?"

"You sound like you're trying to shame me for asking a stupid question. This is where I remind you that there is no question too stupid for me to ask. All questions are merely tools in our quest for knowledge," Stiles said as piously as he could manage.

Dad chuckled and squeezed Stiles' shoulder affectionately before letting go as Derek came back in, Scott in tow.

"Sheriff," Scott said respectfully as he came in.

"Scott," Dad replied with a nod. "Thank you for indulging me."

"Thank you for telling us," Scott returned earnestly.

"I'm smart enough to know when I'm in over my head. And," Dad glanced at Stiles, "it's not like you wouldn't find out all the details anyway, _somehow_."

Stiles couldn't really argue with that assertion. "Fair," he admitted.

"Lydia's driving the others," Scott said. "They should be here..." he glanced out the window, "...now."

Stiles followed Scott's gaze to see Lydia's car pulling up and parking behind his jeep. It still seemed weird to have her just stopping by his house, mostly because it didn't seem weird at all. Something that a year ago would've had a starring role in his wildest day dreams was now just common place. Things were very different now but he wouldn't change this. Because carrying a crush for Lydia -- or, really, the idea of Lydia -- was nowhere near as awesome as actually being friends with the actual Lydia.

His thoughts were interrupted by Isaac coming to a stop and staring at the house, head up in the pose that Stiles had come to identify as a werewolf scenting the air. He tried to think why Isaac would be scenting the air like that and then his gaze fell on Derek.

"Uh, Scott? Did you maybe happen to mention to the others about our newest pack member?" Stiles asked casually.

Scott frowned. "No. It didn't come up. You didn't...?"

"Surprisingly enough it didn't come up when I was talking either." He turned to Derek. "So I'm guessing that you being back is gonna come as news to the rest of the Pack. Fair warning."

Derek looked a little worried at that, but before Stiles could open his mouth to reassure him that it wasn't going to be a bad thing, Isaac came bounding up to the door like an over exuberant puppy. He hesitated there, seemingly unsure whether he could just go in or if he needed to knock and it was _Derek_ who took pity on him first and opened the door.

If Derek had any doubts about his welcome from the rest of the Pack, Isaac's wide beaming smile when he saw him must have put them to rest. "You're back!" he exclaimed, and Stiles could practically see him wondering if hugging was appropriate, just as he could pinpoint the moment when he obviously decided he didn't give a fuck and wrapped his arms around Derek in an exuberant if awkward embrace. It was all more typical Scott behaviour than Isaac behaviour, but with Isaac living with the McCall’s now, it was probably inevitable some things would rub off. 

Isaac seemed aware at how out of his usual character it was as well since he pulled back fairly quickly, looking embarrassed. "Sorry. That was, uh..."

"It's good to see you, Isaac," Derek said when Isaac trailed off, smiling at him and clasping his shoulder briefly before letting go.

Lydia and Allison had by this time made it to the door as well. Lydia took one look at Derek then turned to Scott and Stiles with a raised eyebrow. "Is there something you two forgot to mention when ordering a Pack Meeting?" she asked pointedly.

Scott looked apologetic, but Stiles jumped in before he could speak, pitching his voice deliberately perky with an extra bite of sarcasm. "Oh by the way guys, Derek's come home and has joined the Pack. Isn't that awesome?"

Lydia gave him a good five seconds of her judging you face before her gaze darted to Derek for a moment and her expression softened. "It is, actually. "

"Yes," Allison agreed, giving Derek a warm smile. "Welcome back, Derek." It was a testament to how far they all had come that she seemed to genuinely mean it.

"Thanks," Derek replied with a somewhat shy smile of his own. 

Stiles caught his Dad hovering in the background and as much as he wanted to bask in the awkward but heartfelt Pack welcomes for Derek, he knew there were more important things they needed to be doing. 

He cleared his throat meaningfully to get all their attention. "So if everyone wants to head into the dining room, my Dad can share what he knows about the next supernatural threat so we can all panic over it together." Which was an appropriate attempt at humor, but maybe just a wee bit too honest.

Most of the pack froze, expressions becoming alarmed. His Dad muttered, "Stiles," and rolled his eyes in the way of long suffering fathers everywhere. Scott got very earnest and very Alpha-y and declared in his most Alpha-y and very earnest way that no one was panicking. Derek... 

Derek just squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Stiles decided right then and there that Derek was his new favourite.

The Pack did all eventually migrate into the dining room and take up places at or around the table, everyone turning their attention to Stiles' Dad who had retaken his seat in front of the file folder he'd been looking through when Stiles had come home.

"Last night," he began, in what Stiles had long ago privately dubbed his professional Sheriff voice, "Charlotte Hansen, age 23, came home from work, locked herself in her bedroom, sat down in front of her computer and calmly typed up a suicide note, then slashed her own throat with a butcher knife.

"We know for a fact that the wound was self inflicted because Hansen's web cam was on and recorded the whole thing. She had a history of mental illness and her suicide note talked about not being able to take the voices any more. So for all intents and purposes it looks like an open and shut case of a poor girl having a psychotic break and ending her own life."

"But you don't think that's what it is," Stiles said, leaning forward a little as he watched his Dad.

"No I don't," Dad agreed, glancing directly at him. "I didn't from the first minute I walked into that room. I couldn't give you any concrete reasons why though. It was just a feeling. But still... I _knew_ there was something weird about it. So I started looking for... I don't know what. Anything out of the ordinary. And I found this in the drawer of her nightstand."

He pulled out something out of his pocket and laid it on the table. It was a piece of what looked like black silk and Stiles wasn't sure what had Dad so concerned.

Then his Dad unfolded it.

It was like someone had shoved him back in that damned ritual ice bath again. He couldn't see or hear anything and all he could feel was that horrible overwhelming darkness pressing down on him, wrapping around his heart and settling on his chest until the weight was crushing him, making it impossible for him to move or scream or _breathe_....

Hands were grabbing him, holding him."Stiles!"

And just like that the world came rushing back in, all colour and sound and glorious, wonderful air. He closed his eyes and took a deep slow breath and another and another until he felt less like he was about to suffocate.

Even after that, it took a little bit before he was really registering the world around him again. When he did, he discovered that he was on the floor just outside the dining room doorway. He suspected that he had been curled up in the foetal position, but he wasn't now because _Derek Hale_ was curled around him.

"Oh my god," he muttered, feeling his face heat in embarrassment.

"Back with us?" Derek asked softly and Stiles could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest.

"Oh my _god_ ," he repeated, this time with even more feeling. Then, quickly, before Derek could conclude that he was still freaking out, he added, "Yeah, I'm back. That was... not fun. Like that was the exact opposite of fun. What the hell was that?"

Derek stood up and held out a hand to pull Stiles up after him. They both stepped back into the dining room and Stiles went over and picked up the chair he'd apparently knocked over during his little flashback / panic attack / whatever the fuck that had been. "Sorry," he said to the room at large, deliberately not looking at anyone, especially his Dad -- Jesus, he'd freaked out in front of his _Dad_ , that was never cool. 

"We all felt it," Isaac said. "It just hit you, Scott and Allison the hardest."

At that Stiles did look up, seeking out Scott and Allison across the table from him. Allison was as pale as Stiles had ever seen her, her eyes dark and _haunted_ , and Scott looked like he was holding onto control by his fingernails. Stiles glanced down at where Scott was gripping the table. Scratch that. Holding onto control by his claws. Stiles was suddenly very glad that there weren't any mirrors in here so he was forced to see what he looked like in comparison.

"So not just me then," he said, wondering if that made him feel better or if it made everything a whole lot worse. "We just got hit with a face full of -"

"-the Nemeton," Derek finished for him. There was a long silence after that as they all let that terrifying piece of information sink in.

"I'm sorry," Dad said to all of them, but letting his gaze linger the longest on Allison, Scott and Stiles. "I should've warned you before I unwrapped it. I just... I wasn't sure if it wasn't all in my head and I didn't want to influence you into feeling something if there wasn't anything really there."

Stiles couldn't hold back a harsh bark of laughter at that. "I think it's safe to say it's really fucking there, Dad."

Dad grimaced at that and it was an indicator at how shaken he was as well that he didn't even chastise Stiles for his language.

"What is it though?" Lydia spoke up. She gestured at the silk wrapped _thing_ still sitting in the middle of the table. "I didn't get a good look at it before..."

"Before half the pack freaked the fuck out?" Stiles finished for her when she paused probably to find a more tactful way of saying just that. "You did better than me -- I didn't even get a glimpse before getting flashbacked into a foetal position."

"It's a small wooden disc," Dad said. "About the size of a silver dollar. There's some surprisingly intricate symbols carved into it."

"Don't suppose you could draw them out?" Stiles asked hopefully. If his Dad could, then maybe they won't need to unwrap the thing again.

"I could try," Dad offered gamely, "but I don't think I'd be able to get all the details right."

Of course not. Dammit. To be able to figure out what that thing was, Stiles needed to be able to research it and to do that, he needed to know what was carved onto it. Which meant they were going to have to unwrap it and have it shove all its Nemeton-ness in their faces again. "Great," he muttered. "Fantastic." He took a deep breath and exchanged looks with Scott who looked just as determined and sick about this as Stiles was. 

Well, they might as well get it over with. "Right," he said, steeling himself and pulling his phone from his pocket. "Dad, when I give the word, unfold it and I'll try to get some pictures without freak-" He broke off as his phone was plucked right out of his hand.

"I'll do it," Derek said, holding Stiles' phone now. "It didn't affect me as much." He looked around the table, his gaze settling on Scott, Allison and Stiles. "You three should probably step away when we do this. Just in case."

Stiles frowned and watched as Scott opened his mouth, probably to protest, then close it again as he and Derek seemed to have an entire conversation with their eyes. And eyebrows, in Derek's case. Finally Scott sighed and nodded. "Okay," he said standing. He glanced at both Allison who stood as well and then at Stiles who, reluctantly, followed suit. "We'll just be..." he waved in the direction of the front door, which no.

"Upstairs," Stiles said firmly. When Scott looked at him like he was about to argue, he continued, "Dude, we don't know the distance this thing has. It could still make us freak out again and we don't need you wolfing out on my front lawn."

Scott winced at that. "Point," he said. "Okay, we'll be upstairs." He started to lead the way out of the room then hesitated. "If things get weirder than expected-"

"You'll be upstairs and you'll hear it," Lydia told him firmly, but not unkindly. "Go."

Still, Stiles didn't move until Scott did, dutifully following his best friend and Alpha upstairs, feeling conflicted with every step. Part of him was happy to put as much distance between himself and that thing as he could, but a bigger part of him didn't like doing that when others he cared about were still in the room with it.

"I hate this," he declared, throwing himself on his bed when they reached his room.

"You're not the only one," Scott said, sitting down beside him. He was, if not exactly calm, far more steady than Stiles himself was feeling. "But this is one of the reasons why having a Pack makes us all stronger. We can compensate for each others' weaknesses."

"I know," Stiles grumped, kicking his feet out in frustration. "I just get tired of feeling like I'm always the weak one."

"Dude." Scott nudged him in the side, hard. " _Stop_. You are not the weak one, jeez. If anything, you're the brains of the operation." He gestured at Stiles' Wall of Research as if to prove the point.

"Maybe," Stiles admitted grudgingly. He remembered Derek calling him Scott's emissary, which was sorta proving Scott's point. He sighed and sat up, glancing at the third person in the room. Allison had sat down in Stiles' computer chair, and still looked more than a little haunted. "You okay?" he asked her, realizing she hadn't actually said anything since their mutual freakouts.

Allison nodded, giving a weak attempt at a smile. "I'm.... well not _fine_ , but..."

"Better than you were ten minutes ago?" 

"Yeah."

Scott and Stiles looked at each other and Stiles knew this was one of those times they were thinking the same thing. As one they shifted away from each other until there was an Allison sized space between them. Scott patted it as Stiles said, "Come, join us on the bed of freakoutedness."

That got a more genuine smile out of her and she got up and took the place they'd made for her. Without thinking about it, they all sorta leaned into each other, arms jostling and elbows jabbing until they'd found a comfortable position. None of them said anything, just took comfort in the closeness of the others. The pseudo sacrifice ritual might've left them all with a darkness they were having to struggle with, but it also created a bond between them and times like these Stiles was very much aware of it. 

Still, Stiles was aware that sitting on his bed, basically cuddling with his best friend and his best friend's ex was not exactly normal teenage behaviour.

"This is weird," he observed. "Is this weird? I feel like this should be weird."

"Your face is weird," Scott said, not moving at all from the cuddling.

"Says the man with the uneven jawline. You really don't want to go there, Scott buddy." The banter was more than a little forced, but it did do something to settle Stiles' nerves and the fact that it pulled a tiny giggle out of Allison made the effort worth it.

They were so tangled together that Stiles felt it when Scott tensed before he saw him cock his head as if listening to something. "Derek says they're done, we can go back down."

"At this point, I'm not sure if I'm happy or disappointed at that," Stiles said as they untangled themselves and stood up and headed out of his room.

"Me neither," Allison said softly and Stiles shot her a smile and gave her hand a brief squeeze before they descended the stairs.

Everyone else was in pretty much the same positions as when they'd left, though when Stiles looked closely they all seemed to be shaken up.

"Did something else happen?" he asked as Scott, Allison and he retook their seats.

Derek shook his head. "Nothing new, just the same feeling as before. Which is bad enough."

Lydia eyed Scott, Allison and Stiles closely. "Did you sense anything when you were upstairs?"

All three of them shook their heads in unison. Lydia let out her breath in a long sigh. "Well at least its range is short."

"Did you recognize it?" Stiles asked curiously, because he may be King of Research, but Lydia was definitely the Queen.

She shook her head, though there was a hesitancy about her. "No, but there's something there. Like before, with the tree drawing -- there's something there that I know. I just don't know what it is that I know."

"You and Stiles will figure it out," Scott said with complete confidence and yeah, no pressure there.

"That's what you keep me around for," Stiles quipped, then turned to Derek. "Can I have the-" Derek handed him his phone back. "Thanks."

He examined at the photos Derek had taken of the thing for him. It looked just like his Dad had described: a small wooden disk covered in really elaborate carvings. There was nothing in the carvings that Stiles recognized offhand, though they did seem to have a distinct Celtic flavor, which probably meant this was indeed druidic fuckery. He said as much and everyone at the table scowled to varying degrees.

"Stiles, can you send the photos to me?" Allison asked. "I should probably show them to my Dad, see if he knows anything."

"Good idea," Stiles said, his fingers already flying over his phone to do so. 

"I can show them to Deaton too," Scott put in.

"Also a good idea." Stiles sent the photos to Scott's phone as well. "Not that there's more than a 50% chance we'll even understand his answer if he has one, but still. No stone unturned and all that."

His Dad had a bemused expression on his face as he watched them plan. "I can do a little mundane old fashioned investigating," he offered. "See if there's anyone who might've wanted our victim dead in case this was targeted at her for personal reasons." He paused. "Though I don't think this is going to be officially ruled as anything but a suicide. _Because magic_ isn't really something that I can put in a police report as an official cause of death."

"Maybe," Isaac spoke up, shifting in his seat, "considering how that thing feels, we should check out the actual Nemeton as well? I can go, see if I can sniff out anything that's new and dangerous?"

It was a good idea, but Stiles hated the thought of any of the Pack going out there alone. And judging by Scott's expression when he glanced at him, he wasn't the only one.

But before either of them could say anything, Derek spoke up. "I'll go with you," he told Isaac, then glanced at Scott. "If that's okay?"

Scott nodded immediately. "Yes, totally okay. More than okay," he said and Stiles wondered if he had the same momentarily flash of weirdness watching Derek so obviously defer to him as Alpha. 

"You're probably still better than me at sorting out scents," Isaac said, also nodding. "Plus you have a car so..."

"We should probably go now," Derek said, pushing back his chair and standing. "We still have a few hours of daylight and I don't think either of us want to be visiting that place after dark if we can help it."

Scott nodded again as Isaac got up as well. "Keep in touch," he said firmly, every bit the Alpha. "If we don't hear from you in a couple of hours we're going to come after you."

Stiles half expected Derek to say something snarky back to that, but all he did was nod seriously. "We will." Then he gathered Isaac up with his eyes and the two of them left.

The rest of them sat silently for a moment after, then Stiles forced himself to stand up. "I should start getting my research on," he said, already thinking about how best to try and figure out what they were dealing with. As if he'd broken a spell the others all started gathering their things up and Stiles knew they were all about to go their separate research specific ways. He paused though when his gaze was drawn back to the silk wrapped bundle still sitting on the kitchen table. "Hey, what are we going to do with that?"

"Normally," his Dad said, "police procedure would have it tagged and bagged as evidence and stored at the station. But I have the feeling that would be a very bad idea in this case." He sighed, looking at the bundle with distaste. "I can lock it in the gun safe," he finally offered. 

Stiles wasn't exactly wild about it staying on the premises, but at least this way he'd know where it was and that they had control of it. 

They all looked at each other for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Stiles watched his Dad pick up the bundle, shuddering inwardly at watching him having to touch it, even if it was all wrapped up and muffled at the moment. 

"Hey Dad?" He spoke before he had consciously made the decision to. Dad paused and gave him a questioning look. "Uh, you might want to wash your hands really really well after you put that thing away. Maybe in holy water. Just saying."

Dad looked like he was going to snark back, but then he paused and looked thoughtful. Finally, he nodded. "I'll do that."

Stiles just wished that made him feel better.

******

Stiles spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening neck deep in research, now that he had something to go on other than one suicide that might or might not be supernaturally induced. 

Googling _objects that can drive you insane and make you kill yourself_ brought up a plethora of really messed up stories that Stiles hoped were mostly fiction, along with a few facts that Stiles cautiously noted down as possibly real and worth more follow up later. 

Trying to decipher the meaning of the symbols carved on the thing was slower going as the carvings were so intricate and Stiles was still trying to figure out if he needed to look for the whole thing or break it down into component pieces. He thought that was something that maybe Mr. Argent or Deaton could maybe shed some light on anyway.

It was around seven thirty when his Dad knocked on his bedroom door. "Take a break and come downstairs and eat," he said.

Stiles hesitated, looking back at the computer screen and his pad of scribbled notes. "I probably should keep-" 

"I got you curly fries." Dad knew his weaknesses.

"Coming," he said instantly, standing up. It had been a long time since lunch after all. And, well, _curly fries_.

He followed his Dad back downstairs, to find the table set for the two of them with food from Stiles' favourite fast food joint. Including a double order of curly fries. "You know me so well," he observed, stuffing some into his mouth as he was sitting down. 

"I try," Dad said wryly, taking his own seat.

Now that he had started eating, Stiles realized he was actually pretty ravenous and the next few minutes passed in silence as he concentrated on devouring his meal as fast as he could.

He gradually became aware that his Dad was watching him with a fond, _relieved_ expression on his face. "What?" he asked around a mouthful of food.

Dad shook his head. "Nothing."

Stiles pointed at him with his half eaten burger as he chewed and swallowed. "You're not looking at me like it's nothing. That's definitely an expression that is inspired by something. Did I do something particularly amazing and didn't notice?"

That got him a shrug and a rather sheepish, "You're eating."

Stiles frowned. "Um, yeah? Growing teenaged boy here, I tend to eat a _lot_ and often. Plus you got my _curly fries_ \-- my eating them was pretty much a foregone conclusion."

"Usually, yeah. Unless something freaks you out and you go into hyper research mode in reaction," Dad pointed out. "When you do that, you tend to forget about little things like eating. Or sleeping."

Stiles wanted to object, mostly because he didn't like making his Dad worry about him, but he really couldn't, not if he was being honest. "Yeah, well," he fidgeted in his seat, looking down at the mostly empty box of curly fries. "In my defence, hyper research mode has saved the Pack's bacon more than once. And I usually crash afterwards and then eat ALL the things to make up for it." 

"I know," Dad acknowledged easily. "I guess I'm just... surprised -- relieved -- that what happened this afternoon didn't push you into that -- hyper research mode. I was afraid it would."

"Oh it's definitely pushed me into research mode," Stiles said. "Hell, I was in research mode as soon as we talked on the phone this morning. But just not _hyper_ research mode. Not yet at least. We've still got time."

Dad frowned. "What do you mean we've still got time?"

Stiles gave a half shrug, not sure where those words had come from. "I don't.... I just know somehow." He looked up at his Dad. "We're not in crisis mode yet. We've still got time. I don't know _how_ I know that, but I do."

"Okay," Dad agreed easily. He didn't, quite, sound like he was just humoring Stiles which Stiles was grateful for. He knew how it sounded when he said things like that. 

They were silent again for a few minutes as they finished up eating. Dad was the one to break it this time. "I'm sorry about before. I really should've given you guys a warning before I unwrapped the thing. I didn't think it would affect you guys so strongly."

"Yeah, well, you know me," Stiles said in his best joking tone. "Always overachieving." He met his Dad's gaze as he continued. "It's okay," he said, meaning it. "You couldn't have known -- how could you? And I get why you didn't want to influence us beforehand -- mind over matter is a real thing, especially when you're dealing with all this crap. Plus, curly fries. Apologies with curly fries are always going to be accepted."

Dad nodded and Stiles could see the tension in his shoulders ease. "That was really bugging you, huh?" he observed.

"I don't particularly like seeing my son have a magically induced PTSD panic attack," Dad said. "Especially when I trigger it."

Stiles could see that had to be almost as shitty for Dad as it had been for him. "Well, I'm fine now. Completely back to normal. Or as normal as I ever get."

That got a huff of a laugh out of Dad so Stiles counted it a win. 

They got up together and started cleaning up when Stiles realized he still hadn't gotten around to telling Dad about his new sleeping arrangements. 

"So, uh, y'know how we were just talking about me and problems eating and sleeping?" he began. 

"Yes?" Dad replied, looking halfway between suspicious and worried. 

"I think I've stumbled onto something that's helping with the latter."

"It's not drugs is it?"

"What?" Stiles stared at his Dad like he was crazy. "Of course it's not- You're the _sheriff_. I'm the sheriff's kid. I'm not going to be stupid enough to take drugs I don't have a prescription for. I mean, beyond it being stupid in its own right, it would totally put your job at risk."

"Not like kidnapping one of your classmates," Dad pointed out dryly.

"Totally not the same thing at all!" Stiles protested. "We only did that because said classmate was turning into a giant murder lizard who was going around killing people. Total extenuating circumstances. _Total_."

Dad huffed another laugh. "I don't know what it says about our lives that that sentence actually makes sense to me."

Stiles chuckled a little himself. Sometimes he just had to laugh at the absurdity of the horror that was his life. "It says that there's more than enough weird already for me to ever even contemplate doing drugs so you can cross that one worry off your list, okay?"

"Okay. So what's the new sleep aid you've stumbled on then?"

"Derek," Stiles blurted.

Dad blinked slowly. "Derek," he repeated.

"Yeah. He's been-" _watching over_ "-guarding my room -- me -- me in my room -- while I sleep. It's weird, but," he shrugged self consciously, "it seems to be helping. I guess my subconscious feels less threatened or something when he's around."

"So what you're saying is that Derek has been spending the night in your room?" Dad asked.

"Yeah," Stiles confirmed. "But it's not in a dirty or creepy way. He just watches me sleep." Which of course didn't sound creepy at all. 

"And that's helping you sleep?"

Stiles nodded. "Yep." He bit his tongue to keep from trying to justify it some more as past experience with his Dad had taught him that would only make it seem more suspect. Better he wait until his Dad objected, then he'd justify. 

"Okay then."

_Wait, what?_

"What?" Stiles repeated out loud.

"I said, okay. I'm not blind, kid. I've noticed how much sleep you haven't been getting. If having Derek keep watch is making that a little easier for you, I'm not going to object." Dad looked amused. "Unless you really want me to...?"

"No!" Stiles said quickly. "No, I want you to be okay with it, I just was expecting I'd have to talk a lot more before you would be."

Dad slung an arm around Stiles' shoulder. "You'll start to notice that the amount of extra talking you have to do is directly related to the amount of BS you're trying to feed me. Telling the truth generally requires a lot fewer words."

"Is that supposed to be some kind of important moral lesson?" 

"Just consider it another incentive to keep with the truth as much as you can. It's a lot less wear and tear on both of us," Dad suggested, hugging him before letting him go. "And speaking of sleep, I'm going to go to bed. I've been up since yesterday. But if you need anything, wake me up okay?"

Stiles nodded. Not that he planned to for less than something life threatening to because his Dad needed his sleep at least as much if not more than Stiles himself did. "Night Dad."

After his Dad had headed upstairs to bed, Stiles spent a few more minutes straightening up the kitchen then headed back up to his room and his research. Maybe he could actually find something more definitive before Derek showed up.

It was about three hours later when Stiles' phone buzzed. He pulled his bleary gaze away from the computer to read the incoming text from Derek.

_Am about to come up. Okay?_

Stiles smiled a little as he texted back, _OK. Window's open._ It wasn't like he'd expected Derek to forget his promise to text a warning before coming in through his window, but it was just nice to have it confirmed he hadn't.

A minute later Derek was slipping silently into Stiles' room. "Hey," Stiles greeted him. "Thanks for the warning. Means I don't feel as much of a need to put a bell on you as I might otherwise."

"I'm a werewolf, not a cat," Derek said, crossing the room to look over Stiles' shoulder at what he was working on. "Find anything yet?"

"Nothing specific. A few pointers for directions in which to concentrate my research so that's a start at least." He spun his chair until he was facing Derek. "How about you? You and Isaac sniff out anything at the big old dead but evil tree?"

Derek shook his head. "Not really. There were a few maybe suspicious scents but they were all so faded I couldn't really make anything out or track them."

Stiles frowned. "You think someone -- or something -- has been visiting the Nemeton?" 

"It's possible," Derek allowed, "but not in the last month."

"Which means if someone did visit there and then construct a wooden disc of fear and death, they're a planner." Stiles ran a hand through his hair and blew out his breath in a sigh. "Great."

Derek squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "We'll figure it out."

Stiles looked at him with a half smirk, feeling amused. "Since when did you become an optimist?"

"I'm just playing the odds," Derek gave a half shrug that seemed self conscious. "You've had a habit of figuring things out even when no one else has."

"So when you say 'we' you actually mean me," Stiles said, raising his eyebrows. 

Derek raised his eyebrows right back. It was an eyebrow conversation now apparently. "Everyone's going to help, but would you really want to bet that you aren't the one who's going to put all the pieces together?" 

Stiles opened his mouth, thought about it for a moment, then closed it again. "Point," he finally sighed. "I am kinda the brains of the operation." _God help us all._

"Yeah, you are," Derek agreed, completely seriously as far as Stiles could tell. Which was new and kind of... awesome. 

So awesome it made him want to return the compliment some way. "And you're the guardian," he said back without even thinking about it.

Derek froze at that. "What did you call me?"

"The guardian?" Stiles repeated. "Because you're going out of your way to guard my sleep and you came back because you felt you had to guard the Pack and Hale territory against..." Stiles waved a hand demonstratively, "whatever. It's a good thing." He looked at Derek's expression. "You don't look like it's a good thing. Is it not a good thing?"

"Jennifer called me that," Derek said. "When she needed me to go with her to face Deucalian. She said she needed a guardian. And that it could either by me or...." He trailed off.

_Or my Dad and the other parents,_ Stiles finished in his head, but didn't say out loud. He thought about that for a moment, trying to come up with another description, but nothing he could think of fit as well as that one word. 

"You know what?" he finally said. "Just because she was a crazy murdering dark druid doesn't mean that she didn't occasionally get things right. She's the one who figured out what Lydia's deal was first and yeah, she was smart enough to see what you are. She just tried to use you to her advantage. Which didn't really work out for her because she wasn't the Pack you're guardian of."

Derek shook his head. "There's not actually a pack position called guardian."

"There should be," Stiles said firmly. "Hey, I'm the Emissary after all. So if I say that you're the Pack's Guardian you have to listen to me."

Derek looked like he was going to argue, but finally let out a huff that sounded annoyed, but Stiles could tell really wasn't. "Fine. But I'm not going to kill any demon wolfs for you either."

Stiles made a face. "Let's hope that's not something that needs doing. But you and I both know if it is and it's to keep the Pack safe, you totally would." It was a little weird if he thought about it too much, this sudden certainty he had in Derek, so Stiles just tried not to think about it. Because truth was, he _liked_ being that certain of Derek. Of trusting him that much. And he was pretty sure Derek liked it too.

Even if he tried his best to hide it. Like now. Derek crossed his arms and glared. "No demon wolves," he reiterated, but Stiles was learning to see through the glaring to the real emotions underneath and there was definitely a shy pleasure being covered up there.

"Hey, it's not like I'm planning on calling Demon Wolves R Us and ordering one up," he pointed out. "I'd be just as happy -- no even happier, ecstatic even -- if the only thing you have to guard me from is bad dreams. And when I say me, I mean the Pack of course, just, y'know, more directly I mean me."

The glare was still there but fading. "Stiles."

"Yes, oh Pack Guardian?"

"Shut up and go get ready for bed."

"Hey, better men than you have tried to shut me up," Stiles protested. "I am un-shut-upable, I'll have you know." But still he grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom to shower and change, grinning as he heard a growl behind him.

Stiles did his best to keep his mind on Derek and their half joking conversation as he went through his nightly bedtime routine. Thinking of Derek made him relaxed and even happy, which was far more conducive to actually being able to fall asleep and stay that way than the stuff he'd been researching. Or the things that the wooden disc had made him see and feel that afternoon.

Which he wasn't thinking about right now, he told himself firmly, giving himself a stern look in the bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth. No, the topic was Derek as Pack Guardian and how to make him give Stiles the angry eyebrow glare at least once more before bed. Definitely not wooden discs or freakouts or...

Damn. 

Yeah, this wasn't working at all. Stupid brain getting fixated. He was going to need more distraction if he even wanted to attempt sleep that night.

So his first words when he walked back into his room were, "Talk to me."

Derek lifted an eyebrow. "About what?"

"I don't know," Stiles replied, starting to pace. "I don't care. Anything. Well anything that's not related to the... thing with the... thing." He gestured in mid-air not even sure himself what he meant. "Distract me. Please."

"Are you alright?" Derek was frowning at him in concern. 

Stiles nodded, though he didn't stop pacing. "Yeah. Mostly. More or less. Just... I was trying to get my brain to wind down enough to go to sleep and I told myself not to think about... y'know, the thing. And of course if you tell yourself not to think about pink elephants then that's all you can think about. And now, no matter how much I'm trying not to, there's, like, pink elephants everywhere and if I can't stop thinking about it, not only am I not going to have a chance in hell at getting to sleep but I'm probably going to work myself into another freakout so would you please say something to distract me?"

He had to pause for breath then, could feel himself starting to work up into hyperventilating and oh god, there he was suddenly on the verge of a panic attack. 

Derek was suddenly beside him, holding him still with a hand on each of Stiles' arms. " _Breathe_ ," he told Stiles. 

Stiles nodded, closing his eyes and without thinking leaning his head against Derek's shoulder as he concentrated on doing just that. 

One of Derek's hands moved to the back of his neck, a comforting, reassuring touch that Stiles hadn't expected. It was... nice. 

When Stiles' breathing wasn't quite as in danger of running away with him, Derek asked, "So do we need to get a shipment of pink mice?"

"What?" Stiles asked, raising his head to look at Derek in puzzlement.

"To deal with the plague of pink elephants," Derek said deadpan.

Stiles snorted at that. "Y'know, that would probably actually work if that metaphor ever became literal. Of course then we'd need to get a bunch of pink cats to deal with the pink mouse epidemic."

"This is eventually going to end somehow with werewolves dyed pink, isn't it?" 

"Probably," Stiles agreed easily, chuckling a little at the mental image of Derek all wolved out with shockingly pink sideburns. He took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds then released it. "Thanks."

"Any time." Derek stepped back and Stiles immediately missed the contact, though he wasn't about to admit it. That would just be... weird. "Was that just a too much stress thing or....?"

"Or something more sinister?" Stiles finished. He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "Dude, your guess is as good as mine. It's _probably_ just a stress and worry thing, combined with maybe some residue freakout from this afternoon." _God, please let it just be a stress and worry thing._ He didn't really want to think of the consequences if it was something else, something outside his stupid brain. Like something that could drive a woman to suicide maybe...

"How do you feel now?" Derek asked, his head tilting to one side a little as he regarded Stiles.

"Okay? I think?" Stiles said, after taking inner stock. He'd managed to break out of it before it had turned into a full blown panic attack so he didn't even have the usual shakes that those left behind. So yeah, he felt okay.

Derek frowned. "You don't sound very sure."

"I'm okay," Stiles said, more firmly this time. "Really." He held out his hand to show it wasn't even shaking. "See?" Except it was shaking, not much, but there was definitely a little tremor there. Stiles quickly put it back down, hoping it had gone unnoticed.

If it hadn't, Derek had enough tact not to mention it. "Are you going to be able to sleep?"

That was the question, wasn't it? If this had happened a week ago, the answer would be a most definitive no and Stiles wouldn't have even bothered trying. But now that there was Derek here and his proven ability to keep nightmares at bay just by his presence, well... 

"I can give it a try," he finally said, moving over to climb into bed. He paused. "But I'm probably going to need to talk for a while before I can drift off."

"We can talk," Derek said, moving over to the light, and like the last two nights he paused and looked at Stiles questioningly before flicking it off. Unlike the last two nights, Stiles almost told him to leave it on, but in the end nodded that he could turn it off. It felt like some kind of moral victory that he'd managed to do so.

He was maybe a little more grateful tonight for Derek's light up wolf eyes though and not even ashamed to admit it.

"So I talked to my Dad about this," Stiles said, as Derek crossed the room and took what was quickly becoming his usual spot in the chair by Stiles' desk. "You being here and watching me sleep, I mean."

"Should I start worrying that I'm going to be arrested?" Derek asked, his tone of voice telling Stiles he was at least half joking. 

"Nah," Stiles replied. "He was completely okay with it. Surprisingly so, actually. I was all geared up to convince him and he just rolled with it from the start. It was actually a little disconcerting."

"Maybe you just picked your time right," Derek suggested. 

Stiles considered that. "Like, because there was enough other weird stuff thrown his way, you playing guard wolf for my sleeping bod seems relatively normal in comparison?" He shook his head. "Maybe. But I get the feeling he's been silently worrying about my sleep habits the last few months and is just happy I found a solution before we were forced to have a Talk about it that would involve the words 'medical intervention' and 'therapy.'" Not that that hadn't happened before, after his Mom had died or anything.

"But anyway," he continued, "he's fine with it, like I said. So don't feel like you have to sneak in through the window to keep him from knowing." He grinned. "Though if you continue to have an irrational dislike of using the front door, my window is always open for you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Derek replied and Stiles could hear the smirk in his voice.

They were silent for a moment after that and Stiles stirred finally, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling instead of Derek's eyes. "Talk to me," Stiles bade again. "Not like, stuff I need to answer, but just... talk. I know that's not your strongest suit, but..."

It took another moment for Derek to answer. "I don't... I could maybe read something?" he offered.

"Sure, that would work," Stiles replied. He just needed the noise to reassure himself that things were still okay. Then something occurred to him. "Wait, can you read in the dark?"

"Werewolf," Derek reminded him. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I know, dude. But that isn't a skill that is usually covered in the werewolf traits and abilities lists."

"I can see in the dark, Stiles, so yes, logically, I can read in the dark." He didn't sound quite as grumpy as Stiles would've predicted, so it couldn't have been that annoying a question. 

Stiles listened to the soft rustling as Derek obviously went through the books on and near Stiles' desk. Something he found made Derek make that soft huff of almost silent laughter. 

"Should I read something that will help with your research?" Derek asked, humor evident in his voice. Stiles opened his mouth to tell him that probably wouldn't actually help him sleep, but Derek started reading before he could.

"When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton," Derek read and Stiles realized why he'd been chuckling.

Still, it was a good choice for what they were going for and Stiles found himself drifting off before the end of Bilbo's party.

*****

Stiles had always thought when he watched The Empire Strikes Back that having a freaking tree be strong with the Dark Side of the Force was really kinda lame. Because really, a tree? Not exactly the kind of thing that one thinks first off when thinking about evil places.

Then Stiles was introduced to the Nemeton and he started to wonder if maybe there was a bit more reality in Star Wars than he'd at first believed. Because evil trees that kinda just spilled malevolence out all round them were so, so distressingly real.

He stared at the huge stump as he walked around it, shivering because of the cold wind cutting through his hoodie and not because of any evil aura or anything. Definitely not. He wondered idly and not for the first time if the Nemeton had always been a bad news tree, if it had literally grown from a bad seed, or if it had been perfectly benign and full of peaceful leafy goodness before it had been cut down. 

That was something he couldn't find any information about, no matter how hard he searched and it had started to become kind of a chicken or the egg problem for him -- did the tree become evil because it got cut down or did it get cut down because it was evil? He was starting to resign himself to never knowing the truth of it.

Not that it mattered all that much now because regardless of which was cause and which was effect, the remains of the tree _were_ evil and palpably so. It spilled darkness and menace out like a fountain spilled out water. And Stiles had a direct, intimate pipeline to that darkness. 

Scott and Allison did too, ever since they'd given themselves in sacrifice and opened that connection. But for some reason Stiles had always felt like the Nemeton seemed to be more focused on him than the other two. Maybe that was just his own perceptions, or maybe it was because he was neither an Alpha werwolf or a hunter born and bred and so was perceived as the easiest target amongst the three, he didn't know. 

Regardless, it was him that it always seemed to be calling, pulling him back to it, sometimes even in reality, but that pull he could resist. In dreams it wasn't that easy. He'd fall asleep and find himself here, staring at the huge ass evil stump. 

Like now.

Stiles knew he was dreaming, mostly because there was no way on Earth he would have voluntarily physically gone to the Nemeton just then, at least not alone. And he was alone, he was always alone in these dreams. Just him and the evil tree.

Sometimes that was all there was to the dreams, just him staring at the Nemeton where it stood, lurking evilly in the darkness (It was always dark in these dreams even though Stiles knew the tree was just as creepy in sunlight. He knew because he'd gone out there during the daytime to convince himself it really wasn't that bad. Only to discover that yes, it really was that bad after all.)

Anyway, sometimes that's all that happened when the Nemeton called to his subconscious mind. And yeah, it was creepy as fuck, but staring at a lurking stump even if it felt like the stump was staring _back_ wasn't so bad. He could deal with that. Things could be a lot worse after all.

And then there were the times, the dreams, when it _was_ worse. Where the Nemeton seemed to be silently laughing at him, where the feeling of Menace Stiles had lived with for months got even stronger, making it feel like the very air was pressing down on him, trying to drive him to his knees. Where the forest wasn't that eerie spooky silent that felt unnatural and _wrong_ , but was full of even more unnatural and wrong voices -- whispering voices just barely within his range of hearing. Low enough that he hadn't a hope in hell of making out what they were saying, but just loud enough for him to recognize the tone -- coaxing, luring, pulling until they turned harsh and full of hate and the promise of violence. Whenever Stiles had a dream full of those voices, he was pretty much guaranteed to give up on sleep totally for at least a couple of nights after. 

This time was worse than even that.

The whispering voices were there, as always just on the edge of his hearing. But this time when Stiles turned around, looking into the dark forest around him, he could see... shadows. At first he thought it was just the interplay of branches, moonlight and the wind, but it wasn't. There was something about the dark shapes that made it obvious the longer he looked that they were something independent of the trees around him. Something that made him just _know_ that they were unnatural. Wrong.

Alive.

_Hungry._

Stiles suppressed a shiver at the thought. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, using it as a flashlight to shine into the darkness around him, even though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to get a better look at what was out there.

That's when the voices began to get louder.

Not much. Just a little, just enough for him to make out one word they hissed over and over in a sibilant whisper. 

" _Stiles_."

He flinched back violently at that, so violently that he lost his grip on the phone. It fell into the dead leaves at his feet and disappeared, leaving him once again in the darkness, heart pounding a mile a minute in terror. 

" _Stiles!_ "

He may have been terrified but he wasn't paralyzed by it. If there was one thing he'd learned about himself in the past year it was that he was perfectly capable of acting even while he was practically shaking with fear.

"Oh hell no," he muttered, backing up away from the woods that were calling his name. "I am so not doing this. I refuse." He shot an angry look towards the Nemeton because enough was enough. "You hear me evil, dead tree? I'm not playing along in your little horror movie of a nightmare. It's my dream and my mind and that means you're not in control here. I am. So get the fuck out and take your scary ass voices with you."

For the longest moment nothing seemed to happen. Then, just on the edge of hearing there was a low chuckling noise that Stiles thought was probably on the list of sounds that could drive a person insane.

"SHUT UP!" he yelled. 

He felt something touch his ankle and jumped back, heart in his throat. Looking down he saw vines or roots or something vaguely tentacle-like but made of plant material trying to twine around his foot. "Shit!" He backpedalled another foot or so, stopping when it became clear he'd moved out of reach.

He watched the roots thrash around on the ground angrily, reaching for him but stopping just shy of where he was standing. The rustling voices were back louder than ever though once again they didn't seem to be saying any recognizable words, for which Stiles was grateful. 

Slowly Stiles began to calm down when it became obvious that for all the scare tactics, nothing was actually happening to him. "That's right," he said, trying to assert himself and banish the remaining fear. "My dream, my mind, my rules, bitch. You can't actually touch me."

Things started to quiet then and Stiles eventually allowed himself something like a sigh of relief. The whispering voices were still there, but moving further and further away. But just as they reached the limits of Stiles' hearing, he was able to make out another word they were whispering.

His father's name.

That's when he woke up screaming.

******

"Stiles!" 

Someone was holding him down. Heart pounding, mouth dry with terror, that was the only thing that registered at first and he fought against the hold desperately. He had to get free, he had to-

"STILES!"

It was a roar more than a shout and he found himself going completely still at that, eyes blinking up and meeting glowing blue ones. Derek. For a brief moment, Stiles let himself lean forward, resting against the werewolf's bulk. 

"You awake now?" Derek asked, the hands that had been gripping Stiles arms, sliding around his shoulders instead.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse. "Just give me a second."

Derek didn't reply out loud, but the way one of his hands brushed lightly against the back of Stiles' neck was reply enough.

Stiles took a deep breath and let it out, repeating the act several times. He was awake, he told himself. It had just been another bad dream and everything was okay. Or at least as okay as it could be when he screamed himself awake-

Wait.

He screamed himself awake. He _screamed_ himself awake. Stiles knew from experience that there was nothing that got his Dad into his room faster than the sound of him screaming. And yet it was Derek who'd woke him up fully and calmed him down, not his Dad. 

Stiles pulled back from Derek and looked around the room just in case his Dad was hovering awkwardly and Stiles just hadn't noticed him, but the room was distressingly empty. 

And the last thing in the dream, the thing that had made him wake up screaming, was hearing the voices calling his Dad's name. All the fear and vague _menace_ that Stiles had been feeling since that morning suddenly coalesced into a single horrified certainty.

"Derek," he said, in a tightly controlled voice, as he fought back the resurgence of panic, "where's my Dad?"

The question seemed to make Derek realize that Stiles' Dad's absence was Not Right because he got that frown he always seemed to wear when he was alarmed. He raised his head, his eyes going distant as he reached out with his other senses. The frown only deepened when he said, "He's downstairs."

That made everything worse because it meant he had to have been awake and heard Stiles. So why didn't he come up to check?

Stiles untangled himself from the blankets and got up, rushing out of the room and down the stairs, Derek at his heels. "Dad?" he called out as he descended and saw the light on in the dining room.

Still no answer. Stiles practically flew into the dining room... 

...and stopped dead in the doorway when he saw his Dad.

He was sitting at the table, a half empty bottle of whiskey beside him, an empty glass in front of him. That was bad enough. The thing that had Stiles' heart in his throat though was that the other thing in front of him was his service weapon.

His Dad was sitting up in the middle of the night, getting drunk and holding a gun.

The stuff of nightmares indeed. 

Stiles heard the soft intake of breath behind him as Derek took in the scene as well and it steadied him. At least he wasn't alone to deal with this.

His Dad hadn't given any sign that he had even noticed their presence; he was just staring straight ahead at nothing, one hand toying with his glass, the other resting on top of his gun. Taking a deep breath, Stiles stepped forward. "Dad?" he said, his voice mostly steady though it was an effort. 

Dad blinked and his gaze shifted to Stiles, but it was several long seconds before there was any recognition there. "Stiles?" he asked, sounding hoarse in a way that Stiles had only heard a few times, almost all of those right after his Mom had died. 

"Yeah, it's me." He took another step closer and nodded at the booze. And the gun. "What are you doing?" he asked carefully.

"I-" Dad frowned, looking down at the table as if he didn't realize he was holding a gun. "I don't..." When he looked back up at Stiles his expression was a study in confusion. "Claudia was... I saw... She was here."

_Oh god._ Stiles swallowed hard, but did his best to keep calm as he took another step forward. He could do this. He just needed to get close enough to get the gun away before Dad did something unthinkable. "Was she?" he asked, unable to keep his voice from cracking a little despite his best efforts. 

Dad nodded. "She said she missed.... that she was lonely. She wants me to come with her." His grip on the gun tightened, and Stiles' heart, already beating fast, ratcheted up another notch.

"Dad," he said slowly, "Mom's _dead_."

"I know." Dad's head lowered and he stared at the table top. "I know she is. She's been gone for so long. But she was here and she said she needs me...."

"I _need_ you. Dad, look at me," Stiles pleaded. Dad's head came up and he stared at Stiles with an expression full of pain and befuddlement. "I miss Mom too. I miss her every day and god, if I could see her again...." He shook his head and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "But you can't go, Dad. You can't. Because I need you. I can't..." His voice cracked and he felt the moisture on his own face. "You've got to stay. _Please_. I need my Dad."

For a long moment Dad just stared at him and Stiles didn't think he was getting through. He tensed, preparing himself to leap forward and go for the gun if that's what he needed to do, but finally, something seemed to happen, his words seemed to sink in and an awareness that had been missing from Dad's gaze seeped back in. He looked down at the gun in confusion then _let it go_ and stumbled to his feet, moving the few steps it took to be able to hug Stiles. 

Stiles hugged him back as tightly as he could, burying his face in his Dad's shoulder, trembling now that the crisis had been averted. 

They stayed like that for long moments. Stiles heard rustling and glanced up enough to see that Derek was moving forward to pick up the gun and unload it. Good. That meant he didn't have to let go of Dad to do it himself.

Eventually, Dad pulled back and gave Stiles a confused look. "What the hell just happened?"

"Something was messing with you," Stiles said, relieved that the influence seemed to be broken. It let him think again beyond stopping his Dad from... He shied away from even completing that thought. But now that he was thinking, it wasn't difficult to figure out. "And I've got a pretty good idea what that something was."

He let go of his Dad though it took much more willpower than he would admit to do so and glanced at Derek, ready to ask him to look after Dad, but Derek nodded before he could speak. "I've got him," he said. "Go."

Stiles nodded back once, then turned and ran through the house, up to his Dad's room where his gun safe was. It was, Stiles saw as soon as he entered the room, standing wide open from when Dad had obviously pulled out his revolver earlier. If the whole scene downstairs hadn't made it clear that something was messing with his Dad's mind, that little fact would've done it all on its own. Dad always made sure that the safe was locked. 

Not that it would have kept Stiles out even if it had been locked; Stiles, being Stiles, had long ago learned the combination just in case. But he didn't need it this time and opened the safe door the rest of the way and looked inside. 

The silk wrapped wooden disc – which Stiles was now thoroughly convinced was an evil magic wooden disc if he'd had any doubts before – had been shoved haphazardly to the back. Steeling himself, Stiles reached out and grabbed it, gritting his teeth against the almost slimy feel of it even through the silk.

There was probably a way of tracing the disc back to whoever made it, just as there was probably a way to store it safely without it driving people near it to kill themselves, but after what had almost happened downstairs, Stiles wasn't willing to take any chances.

He pulled it out and carried it quickly to the bathroom where he dumped it in the sink, then hurried back to his room and dug around in a desk drawer until he found the lighter he kept there. He took that back to the bathroom and lit the damned thing on fire, silk covering and all.

It caught alight relatively easily, far easier than Stiles would have thought it would if it had been an ordinary piece of wood wrapped in silk. Maybe magic was extra flammable or maybe it was just the added intensity of Stiles _willing_ it to burn into harmless ash, but within a minute of him lighting it, there were flames shooting up from the sink, shot through with a sickly green colour. 

Stiles took a step back and pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose to make sure he didn't breathe in any smoke it was putting out. He had the feeling that wouldn't be a good thing at all if he did. He _felt_ it when the thing's power was destroyed, heard somewhere in his mind a scream of thwarted rage that sent him staggering back into the wall behind him. But it quickly dissipated and Stiles felt lighter the moment it did. 

He waited until the fire died down on its own then turned on the tap to douse the ashes and put it out the rest of the way. When he was sure it was completely dead, he went back downstairs.

Derek and his Dad were both still in the dining room and they both looked up when Stiles came back in. "So, I think we can definitively say that Charlotte Hansen did not commit suicide," he said as he pulled out a chair and flopped down in it, drained now that the danger was past.

"What did you do?" Derek asked, frowning at him. 

Stiles bared his teeth in something that bore at least a passing resemblance to a grin. "Torched the motherfucker."

"Stiles-" Dad started automatically.

"Dad, whatever the hell that disc was, it just almost made you eat your own gun. If ever there is a time and a thing to swear at, this is it."

Dad opened his mouth, then closed it again and sighed. "Point." 

Stiles eyed him for a long moment. He _looked_ back to normal, maybe a little frazzled around the edges, but considering he'd almost been magicked into _eating his own gun_ a little frazzled was probably a normal reaction. "You okay?" he asked anyways, just to make sure.

Dad gave a short bark of laughter. "I'm a lot better than I was ten minutes ago." He met Stiles' eyes. "Thanks."

Stiles waved a hand tiredly in acknowledgement. "I should've done that the second you showed it to us," he said. What had he been thinking letting Dad keep it in the same room he was sleeping in?

"That too, but I meant for talking me down," Dad said. The look on his face was saying a lot more than his words, but there'd been enough bearing of hearts tonight already as far as Stiles was concerned.

So he conjured up a smirk and said, "Be glad that worked because plan B involved having the werewolf tackle you and sit on you until you came to your senses." He heard a soft huff of amusement quickly stifled coming from Derek's direction. 

They all fell silent then for a moment and Stiles let himself relax further into the chair until if he relaxed any more he was in danger of either sliding right off it or becoming one with the chair in some kind of weird furniture zen thing. He desperately wanted to go back up to bed, but didn't feel like he could just yet. 

"What happened anyway?" he asked, knowing they were going to have to talk about it and figuring it was better to get it over with instead of having the conversation hanging over their heads. 

They had enough hanging over their heads without adding to it.

His Dad ran a hand over his face tiredly. "I was... dreaming. About your Mom. About missing her and wanting to be with her and how she was..." He stopped and swallowed hard. 

So much for no more bearing of hearts, Stiles thought. He reached out and covered his Dad's hand with his own. 

Dad glanced down with the faintest ghost of a smile and turned his hand so he could squeeze Stiles' fingers. He took a deep breath and continued. "Then I was awake and she was... still there. Just out of reach. She talked to me, said she needed to be with me as much as I..." He trailed off again, but gamely continued. "She said she couldn't come to me. That I would have to go to her. And at that time it all made perfect sense."

Stiles couldn't completely hold back a shudder; that was so very close to one of his greatest fears immediately following his Mom's death. He _knew_ how much Dad had loved her, knew how much her death had left him reeling. He found Dad on more than one night, staring out into a darkened room with a bottle of scotch at his elbow and he worried that one night he'd find... well what he'd found tonight. 

"I don't think I ever really woke up, not completely," Dad continued. "It was like I was sleepwalking as much as anything. It didn't feel... No, it did feel real, distressingly, painfully real, but it didn't feel like there would be consequences. I don't think... whatever it was... wanted me to think about the consequences. But I couldn't help it." He met Stiles' gaze. "Even Claudia's ghost calling to me couldn't make me forget I have a son."

Stiles felt his breath leave him in a whoosh and he squeezed his Dad's hand tightly. "Even before I came downstairs?" he asked in a small voice.

"Even before," Dad confirmed. "That thing was doing its damnedest to make me think it was really Claudia asking me to join her, but I was able to resist because I think part of me knew all along it wasn't her." The corner of his mouth turned up just slightly. "Your Mom would never ask me to leave you. Hell, she'd kick my ass all over the afterlife if I even considered it."

"So that's why when we found you, you were just sitting there?" Stiles asked, a bit tentatively.

Dad nodded. "It was a stalemate. It couldn't quite convince me to do what it wanted, I couldn't quite convince myself to stop listening to it completely. Until you showed up and your convincing drowned its convincing out."

Stiles spread his hands. "Apparently I'm just gifted at talking people down from magically induced suicide attempts." And, god, what did it say about his life that he'd had to do that more than once?

Dad pushed back his chair and got up. "I'm going to make some coffee," he said. "Want some?"

"God, yes, please," Stiles said fervently. Leaving unsaid as much as his Dad had that sleep was not something that was going to be voluntarily attempting the rest of the night. 

Dad glanced over at the other person sitting silently at the table. "Derek?"

"If you're making some, sure," he said, seeming surprised to be asked. 

"Should I find us some infomercials to mock?" Stiles asked, slowly climbing to his feet and glancing in the direction of the living room. 

"The stupider the better," Dad told him. 

Stiles grinned and gestured with his head for Derek to follow him into the living room. "It's a thing," he said, picking up the remote and turning on the TV. "We watch bad infomercials and mock how incompetent the people in them are. Patented Stilinski method for nights when staying awake is better than dealing with the nightmares."

"I've seen worse coping strategies," Derek observed and Stiles turned his grin on him. 

"I know right? We should totally make an infomercial about it. It would be so meta -- the infomercial about using infomercials to deal with voluntary terror induced insomnia." He found one talking about some kind of weird kitchen appliance and flopped down on the couch.

Derek stayed hovering in the doorway. "Do you want me to go?" he asked hesitantly. "If you want some time with just you and your Dad I mean..."

"Stay," Stiles said with a little more force than he had intended to use. He patted the spot on the couch beside him. "Please. It's... it's better with you here. Safer." At least that's how it felt to Stiles. 

Derek took a couple of steps toward him. "If you're sure..."

"I am. Totally." He paused, taking a deep breath and then continued more earnestly because it needed to be said. "Having you here when this all happened, it helped a lot."

"I didn't really do anything," Derek pointed out, but he moved all the way into the living room and sat down beside Stiles.

"You were here. Backing me up. I didn't have to deal with that alone." He glanced sideways at Derek. "And I totally wasn't kidding about plan B. If I hadn't been able to talk him down, I would've tagged you in to sit on him until he came to his senses."

"I would've done it," Derek admitted.

"I know." He nudged Derek's shoulder with his own. "It made a difference. Knowing someone had my back."

Derek gave a half shrug in return. "That's what Pack does."

"Still." He nudged Derek's shoulder again. "Thanks. Stop dodging and take it for what it is."

That got a faint smirk out of Derek. "You're welcome, then."

"Better," Stiles judged. The mention of Pack had him thinking however and he pushed himself to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Derek asked, looking like he was caught between standing as well and pulling Stiles back down beside him.

"Gonna grab my phone and text the others," he replied, already heading for the stairs. "I don't think we need to actually wake them up if they're asleep, but they probably should know about what happened, just in case."

Derek just nodded and relaxed back into the couch cushions. "You're probably right."

"Be right back," Stiles said with a quick grin, and dashed up to his room to grab his phone. He didn't stay in there any longer than it took to do so though; somehow after everything that had happened tonight his darkened bedroom just felt like a place he didn't want to linger. As if doing so might invite back the nightmare that had started tonight's adventure. 

So he grabbed his phone off his desk and dashed back out, already sending a mass text to the rest of the Pack: _Had a little excitement at Casa Stilinski tonight. Disc tried to do my Dad like it did Hansen. So I torched it._

He didn't expect an answer, but just as he had reached the living room and was settling back on the couch, his phone rang. 

Scott. Either he'd forgotten to put his phone on vibrate or he had already been awake.

Derek looked over at him questioningly as he answered. "Scott," Stiles said, both in answer and in greeting to his best friend.

"Oh my god, Stiles! Is your Dad okay? Are you okay?"

"We're fine," Stiles said quickly. "We're all fine. I burned the disc in the bathroom sink and that seemed to stop whatever it was that it was doing."

"Oh my god," Scott repeated. 

Stiles gave a weary half chuckle. "Yeah, that's pretty much my reaction too. It's been a pretty crappy night, but it's okay now, Scott," he said because Scott sounded closer to freaking out at the moment that Stiles was. "I promise."

"Do you need anything? Do you want me to come over?" Scott asked, sounding almost like he wanted the answer to be yes because that's what Scott did. Always looking for ways to help. 

"No, we're good buddy, but thanks. We're just going to have a little impromptu get together of Stilinski Insomnia Theatre, Dad, Derek and me. I didn't mean to wake anyone, but figured I should make sure you guys knew what happened, y'know." _Just in case_ , he thought but didn't say.

His Dad came into the living room at that point, carrying a tray with three mugs of coffee on it. "Is that Scott?" he asked, nodding at the phone.

Stiles nodded back.

"Everything okay over there?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, not bothering to cover up the mouthpiece of his phone. It wasn't like Scott couldn't hear everything being said in the room anyway with his crazy werewolf senses. "They're fine. I think the disc needed proximity to work its voodoo."

Dad got that exasperated 'you've got to be kidding me' expression that he seemed to get whenever Stiles told him there was some new kind of supernatural fuckery they had to deal with. Stiles was actually happy to see it because it meant his Dad was definitely on the way to being back to normal. "There's voodoo now?"

"No," Stiles replied quickly, but just as quickly amended, "I don't know. Maybe? I haven't actually done much research in that direction, I'll have to add it to the list. But in this case I was just using the word as a figure of speech."

"Oh." Dad looked mollified. He handed Stiles his cup of coffee. Stiles took it as his just reward for keeping things from turning out horribly. "Good."

He heard Scott's soft chuckle over the phone. "Sounds like things are okay for the moment."

"Yeah," Stiles told him. "Yeah, buddy, they are. You can go back to sleep with a clear conscience. One of us should actually be well rested tomorrow."

Scott sighed heavily. "Fine, but call me if anything else weird starts happening. Or, or if you need anything. Anything at all. Okay?" He'd started out using what Stiles had come to think of as his Alpha tone of voice but by the end it was all pure Scott McCall, anxious to help his best friend. This was why Stiles loved the dude. 

"Promise," he said. "See you tomorrow." He hung up the phone and settled onto the couch more carefully than he would've if he hadn't been holding a hot mug of coffee. 

It took a few minutes for everyone to get situated comfortably and at the end of it Stiles found himself in the middle, sandwiched between Derek and Dad. Not that he was complaining. After what had happened earlier he felt an almost pathological need to be close to his Dad, and Derek... Derek made him feel _safe_.

In the morning, that would be what he was going to blame for the fact that despite everything that had happened that night he still managed to drift off to sleep within fifteen minutes of them all settling down. And that he had managed to stay asleep nightmare free until daylight.

Damn werewolf Guardian.

******

_**Elsewhere**_

He stared down at his hand and the healing burn with a grimace of distaste.

The biggest drawback of harnessing the Nemeton's power in this manner was that the conduit went both ways -- he could control and direct its effects, but any damage done to the talisman reflected back on him as well.

And of course the Stilinski kid had used fire to destroy the talisman. It was _always_ fire.

Still, painful burns aside, he was ruling it as a successful test. The talisman had consumed the target and had almost taken out a second all unintended, much closer to the source. That would be considered a win in anyone's books, surely. 

It was still going to take a while to gain enough power for his ultimate goal, but he had always been good at playing the long game.

So what if his talisman had been destroyed? After all, he had plenty where that one had come from. He reached out and picked up the leather bag that had been sitting on the table in front of him, opening it and spilling its contents across the table's surface – nineteen wooden discs identical to the one that had burned. 

But perhaps, before the next attempt, he would work on some fire proofing.


End file.
